Tattoo
by Judanim
Summary: Crowley learns of a new magic technique and decides he wants to try it on Gabriel.
1. You're on My Heart

Author's Note: Inspired by a Tumblr post regarding Mark Sheppard's tattoos. There might be some inaccuracies here, because I only didn't do a whole lot of research, but given that there's magic involved I'm not sure it really matters. Yes, if you're wondering the titles are all from Jordin Spark's "Tattoo". It took me five years, but I finally found an application for this song. This first chapter is pre-series. Cross-posted to AO3.

Warnings: Slash (is this really a warning in the SPN fandom any more?), mild smut (nothing explicit), strong language.

**Tattoo  
**by Judanim

Chapter One: "_You're on My Heart"_

To say that Crowley had an interest in magic was an understatement. It was something passed on to him by what little he could remember of his human life as Fergus McLeod, son of a witch and bastard extraordinaire. Normally demons only used magic at absolute need, using binding or summoning spells when there was no other way to deal with the situation. Some said it was because witches were too easily angered to be dealt with on a regular basis, but Crowley figured they just didn't have the people skills. He, on the other hand, was something of an adept, keeping track of his contracts with enchanted coins and keeping his enemies in check with hex bags. It made life much more interesting. Simpler too.

So when he heard in the mid-nineteenth century of a mystic in Tibet who had a very special way with ink, Crowley's curiosity was piqued. The instant he arrived in the woman's abode, he was not disappointed. She was the real deal, and she also knew precisely what he was.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, flashing his friendliest (which was a stretch of the term admittedly) smile. "I'm surprised, with a reputation like yours you'd think they'd be flocking to your doors. Perhaps it's for the best. Nothing ruins a good thing like everyone having it."

The mystic actually laughed, smirking in understanding. "What can I do for you?"

"Honestly? I just want to learn, though a little taste of your talents wouldn't hurt," Crowley said, sitting down cross-legged across from her.

"A demon making a deal. That's original." The mystic leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. This was a shrewd business woman, and the Crossroads King wouldn't have it any other way. "What would you like?"

* * *

"Cockney thugs are the best. So easy to get 'em going," Gabriel said when he and Crowley landed back in the demon's home in upstate New York.

Six months since his visit to the mystic, and today was the first time he'd seen the trickster since. All through their day of riling up London street gangs and watching the ensuing mayhem, Crowley was thinking about the art he'd been practicing, and how he wanted to practice it on Gabriel. Attempting to push the thoughts aside with a quiet clearing of his throat, he said, "One might even say too easy. It's been a long time since you've done something that simple."

Gabriel shrugged and popped himself over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of Craig and one of fruit brandy and two tumblers. "Bit rusty I guess. People are so conservative these days, sometimes it's hard to find work. So sue me."

The demon raised an eyebrow and accepted the glass of Craig Gabriel slid over to him. "Usually the more conservative the public gets, the crazier the private antics are. We both know that." He took a sip, then drank the whole bloody thing. Determination filled him, and he got into the angel's personal space. "What is it? Trouble at home with the goddess? I warned you about courting a being of _destruction_, didn't I?"

"Kali's not the problem. She's actually pretty relaxed, though I have a feeling we're both taking advantage of this open relationship thing." Gabriel finished off his own glass, then refilled both tumblers wtih a snap of his fingers. "Truth be told, I missed you. You need to stop working so hard, so I can spend months ravishing you, like the old days."

Crowley laughed, remembering how they'd spent a good quarter of the eighteenth century. The memories made him sigh, just a little. Good years the lot of them. Revolutions abounded, and deals were being made left and right. Most of them involving him, which is how he got his position. "That's the problem with being King. Can't philander around like I used to. Sorry love."

"Sorry doesn't quite cut it," Gabriel said, his hands snaking around Crowley's waist. "You've got to make it up to me."

He tried not to leap at the opportunity. "I'm sure I can think of something."

They went slow, for them anyway. Usually it was a pair of echoing snaps and away they went, all teeth and laughter and unbridled lust. This time Crowley took his time, peeling each article of clothing off the archangel, kissing and licking his way over every bit of exposed skin. In his way he had missed Gabriel too, not that he would ever admit it. Crowley had enough trouble with the fact that he and the angel were, in fact, lovers. Demons didn't have lovers. They fucked to slake their desires and went about their way. And just as Gabriel was a terrible angel, Crowley was sometimes as equally bad a demon.

"Don't tease me Crowles," Gabriel said, and he was actually whining, delicious sounds coming from his throat around his words. So Crowley eased up and let him have control of the situation, something that always ended well for both of them.

Gabriel returned the agonizing pace in kind, taking his time with removing the demon's clothing and pausing only when he pulled off Crowley's shirt. "What is this?" he asked, tracing the art etched into the demon's skin, a blue dragon wreathed in angry red flames adorning both shoulders and stretching down his left arm and pectoral.

"The gift of a Tibetan mystic. Did it for a lark really," Crowley said. He bit his lip, trying again to fight back his anticipation, and blew a lick of flame into Gabriel's face. "Of course being able to breathe fire can always come in handy."

The archangel didn't flinch at the flames. Instead he met Crowley's eyes, smiling mischievously. "It suits you. I take it you stole her technique?"

"Naturally."

A little moan escaped Gabriel's lips, and Crowley could see all the possibilities flash through those golden orbs of his. He leaned down and left a trail of bites and kisses along the tattoo before dropping to his knees in front of the demon. Crowley had to grip the bar for support, as Gabriel swallowed him whole. The demon thrust into his angel's wonderful mouth, only now letting himself think about how he wanted to test his newfound magic skills.

Before he could climax, Crowley pulled Gabriel off him and popped them into the bedroom, where he had his set of inks and needles set up (not that he'd been expecting or waiting for the trickster; never!). The archangel looked at the instruments, fingertips brushing the edge of the table where they sat, before turning back to the demon.

"You got something in mind, cupcake?" Gabriel asked, his voice low and honey-coated.

It took a surprising amount of effort for Crowley to answer, "I want to mark you." And then he almost cursed, because that was not exactly what he'd meant to say, but the words were out, and he couldn't take them back. Mostly because he actually meant them.

Gabriel wasn't surprised or offended or anything an angel should have been when a demon suggested putting a claiming mark on him. Instead he moved in close, pressing their (almost) naked bodies flush, chest to chest. "Mmm. As long as I get to return the favor."

Those were the last words Crowley had expected to hear, and they caused his non-beating heart to flutter. Fucking angels. "Of course," he said all the same. "Kali might be disappointed."

"She's already getting over it," Gabriel said, shrugging.

Even better, the angel actually sounded like he didn't care. Crowley suppressed the thrill of excitement that threatened to turn him into a giggling schoolgirl. He focused on the physical, on the nearness of Gabriel, running his hands down the archangel's back and kissing him slow and deep.

"Do you trust me?" Crowley asked when they broke for air.

"Said the demon to the archangel," Gabriel said, chuckling. He rested his forehead against Crowley's. "You know I do, cupcake."

Crowley kissed him again and guided him to sit down at the low table. With Gabriel's back exposed to him like a canvas, the demon knew what kind of mark he wanted to leave there. From his inks he selected only two colors, red and black, and mixed in the appropriate esoteric ingredients. He picked up his knife and slid the edge against his forearm, a trickle of blood springing forth. Crowley held the cut over the bowl of red ink, changing the shade to something dark and almost sinister. Belatedly the demon thought he should be wearing a smock for this, but every so often he didn't mind a mess (and as usual the angel was involved).

"Going to need you to tamp down your Grace, love, otherwise this isn't going to work," Crowley said while wiping off the knife.

Gabriel nodded, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. "Ooh, kinky. We haven't done that one in a while. When was that? Napoleon?"

"During his disastrous return to Paris, yes." Crowley smooth a hand down Gabriel's spine, feeling the Grace recede almost entirely, though a trace of its signature warmth and light still hummed quietly under the angel's skin. "This will probably hurt."

"Bring it on."

Never one to step down from a challenge, Crowley went about his work. He'd managed to figure out the mystic's process, something made much easier with a touch or two of demonic powers. The big lines came first, making thin, shallow cuts into the skin, followed by the ink, and then healing it all to seal the ink and keep the lines clean. To make it easier Crowley healed the cuts as he went, as soon as the ink went in, to minimize the pain for Gabriel.

Crowley was no artist, but he'd been practicing this one. Even so he was a little disappointed when the black outline was done.

"I'm sure it's awesome, Crowles, and you're not even done yet, right?" Gabriel said, reading his mind.

In the past Crowley would've argued that, not to mention been angry at the angel's presence inside his head, but today he was grateful. "Certainly not. This part will hurt worse though. You still all right?"

Gabriel twisted his head and nodded. "Don't worry about me. Just get on with it."

The demon noticed the way Gabriel had a white-knuckled grip on the carpet, knees bouncing ever so slightly. The angel was anxious, excited even, and that was an encouraging thought. So with more confidence he continued in his work.

Technology hadn't quite caught up to the supernatural abilities yet, so Crowley put the knife aside for the next part. To fill in the outline he would make small abrasions with one thumb, push the red ink into the wound with the other, and then go back to the first thumb to quickly heal it and set the ink. It was a methodical and time-consuming process, but what was time to them? The rhythm was steady, and soon Gabriel was leaning into his touch, fighting not to arch his back.

Crowley wondered how long it would take the archangel to pick up on the demon blood. Under normal circumstances the effects would have been immediate, but now it was diluted with the ink and being spread out over his skin instead of directly imbibed. He was less than halfway through when Gabriel finally sensed it.

The archangel's head shot up with a little groan as it hit him. "Crowles, you sneak," he said, breathless.

"Thought you might like that." Crowley paused his marking, laying a hand flat on Gabriel's back, feeling the two forces at war in his veins, Grace trying to eradicate the demon blood and failing.

Gabriel sighed and relaxed. "You know that it's never going away, right? It's a permanent part of my vessel."

The demon leaned forward and kissed the archangel's shoulder. "I was counting on it."

"Nngh. Please, Crowles, finish it."

He did as asked, his pace a little more hurried now, occasionally making mistakes and having to grab up the black again and fix them. Gabriel didn't miss it when he did, laughing just quietly enough to keep his shoulders from shaking.

Finally it was done, the dark ink gleaming in the candlelight. "Do you want to see it, love?" Crowley asked.

The archangel summoned the requisite mirrors himself. It took a bit of twisting and "Left. No your other left."-type comments, but it was worth it all when Gabriel actually saw the tattoo. His eyebrows shot up, taking in the red and black demonic wing that looked like something straight out of a Classical depiction of the Devil, and then he grinned. "You know turnabout's fair play."

Crowley couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement at that statement, though he tried not to let it show. "Inks are already mixed with the proper ingredients. Let your imagination run wild."

Normally giving the trickster that much free reign was a bad idea, but then again he was the only being other than himself that Crowley trusted. They traded places at the table, Gabriel snapping the mirrors away into the ether whence they came.

"No peeking," the angel said and nudged Crowley's chin, forcing him to face forward.

It was a bit agonizing, not being able to see what Gabriel was doing. How the archangel had withstood it, Crowley didn't know. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Gabriel was drawing, though the brief flashes of pain blurred the vision. The lines were smaller, strokes shorter and with a deeper curve than Crowley's had been. And then Gabriel switched long, sweeping movements, coloring in his lines no doubt. His Grace made it easier for him to heal, so he could do it with a fair bit more efficiency that Crowley could ever hope to. Not that he did.

Somewhere during the coloring, Crowley felt something different. It was like a cold burn under his skin, one that was slowly building and inescapable. The demon hissed as he recognized the sensation, having felt it before. Grace, except now it was woven into his meatsuit, like Crowley's blood was in Gabriel's vessel. It didn't fade either, constantly thrumming just beneath the surface no matter which way he twisted or turned, and to Crowley's mild surprise it felt _good_. Not just the conflict itself, because that always amused him, but also the fact that it was a part of Gabriel that would always be inside him, always with him. And it was even better knowing that the reverse was true.

"Fuck," Crowley found himself saying, neatly summing up his feelings on the matter.

Gabriel chuckled. "I think that's the most eloquent you've ever been, cupcake."

It took all of Crowley's self-control (what little of it that wasn't in tatters right now) not to turn around and maul the angel with his lips. He didn't have to wait long to get the opportunity though, because soon Gabriel was summoning the mirrors again and hauling Crowley to his feet.

"What do you think?"

It was beautiful, if a demon was in any position to call anything that wasn't violent or deadly beautiful, though Crowley supposed a representation of an archangel's wing probably qualified as at least one of those things too. A golden, multi-layered (six layers, if he was counting correctly) wing was spread across his back, mirroring Gabriel's demonic tattoo, so that if they stood side by side the two pieces would fit together almost seamlessly. Rather like the creatures that bore them.

"It gets better," Gabriel said, even though Crowley hadn't said a word. "Think about me."

Crowley smirked. "Trust me, angel, I'm thinking about you."

"No, actually think about me. Like, be concerned for my well-being or something."

The thought was surprisingly easy to conjure, which would've terrified a normal demon. Not Crowley. He was the King of the fucking Crossroads for a reason. As the question went through his mind—_Is Gabriel all right? Alive? Still wearing pants?_—the outline of the wing on his back glowed an unearthly gold, the angel's Grace rushing through his system and lighting him up from the inside.

"Fuck," Crowley repeated, because the term was apt again. He chanced a glance at Gabriel. "Think it works both ways?" This was definitely not an aspect of the spell he'd thought through.

Gabriel shrugged and quirked an eyebrow, no doubt thinking something similar to Crowley. And then he grunted as his wing did the same, only his went a deep, angry red, matching the true color of demon blood. "Well that's interesting. I think the tattoo's trying to tell me you're horny."

"It took all that for you to figure that out?"

"Just making an observation."

Crowley growled and shut up the angel with a kiss.


	2. A Part of Everything I Do

Author's Note: And here we have the thrilling conclusion to this story! Yay for getting stuff done! This chapter takes place during and just after 5x19, "Hammer of the Gods." Ya'll savvy SPN watchers know what that means… Beta'd by the lovely Naomi Ricard and cross-posted to AO3.

Warnings: Angsty fluffy stuff. Some people prefer to be warned about these things.

**Tattoo  
**by Judanim

Chapter Two: _"A Part of Everything I Do"_

Crowley wasn't expecting Gabriel to come home. After all, he knew better than to hope. A gathering of some of the most powerful pagan gods on Earth? Yeah, that wasn't a massacre waiting to happen or anything. Crowley knew he should have at least argued with Gabriel not to go, but when he looked into the archangel's eyes, he saw the determination and felt it mirrored by the tattoo on his back. Gabriel wanted to do something to stop this damned Apocalypse, and since Crowley's bid had failed, the angel decided that he had to try his own way.

"Stupid bloody angel," Crowley was muttering into a glass of Craig after Gabriel left. But he wasn't angry or disappointed at Gabriel's insistence on sticking his neck out. For the first time, the demon felt guilty, because he hadn't gone with Gabriel, the one being Crowley would ever do a selfless act for. The worst part was the angel wasn't even surprised when he let him go off on his own. The demon should have taken that as his sign to not feel guilt or regret, but the lack of condemnation only served to twist the knife; after knowing him for three hundred years, Gabriel knew where Crowley's priorities lay, and he never expected him to change, never asked him to. That was— fuck, that was love, and Crowley almost choked on the word.

For all the time they'd spent together over the centuries, and despite the bond they shared via the magic in their tattoos, it was that silent acceptance that did him in; that proved it.

Crowley knew he didn't deserve it, and in a way he didn't want it. The archangel's pure, unconditional love only served to magnify what Crowley felt for Gabriel himself, and it was nothing a demon should feel, nothing a demon should be capable of feeling.

He refilled his glass once, then twice, enjoying the way the scotch burned in his throat. Crowley almost poured a third, but instead he took a swig from the bottle before tossing it against the wall. Glass and expensive liquor flew everywhere, and Crowley couldn't bring himself to care. He watched it run down to the floor, scotch staining the paint and the hardwood, before snapping up a new bottle.

* * *

A few hours later, Crowley felt a pain rip through his body, starting from his back before radiating to _everything_. He forced open his eyes to see his dark living room flooded with a golden light, the source of it behind him. The tattoo. Gabriel. As Crowley started to process what it could all mean, the pain and light both vanished, gone as suddenly as they had come.

Once the shock ebbed away, Crowley realized there was a dull ache in his chest, different from the bright stab of pain. It felt like a piece of him was missing, snuffed out along with the archangel's light.

Crowley must not have been the only one who noticed. _I'm disappointed in you, brother_, a voice said from somewhere in the space between the demon's mind and heart. _First you take the humans' side, and now this._

The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone—that condescending, imperious tone—was something Crowley would always know. An angel. Lucifer, if he had to guess. How Crowley was hearing him now, he didn't know.

_You let a demon mark you, taint you. I know you can hear me, Gabriel. A little of your Grace remains in this world, somewhere. I forgive you, but I will find and destroy the demon. They deserve no less._

So that was it, then. Lucifer must have been communicating directly with the bit of Grace that Gabriel had embedded into the tattoo, allowing Crowley to hear. But if that was true, then did that mean…

Another voice cut into his thoughts. This one he knew, knew it better than his own. _Crowley, run. _

Despite the lump in his throat, Crowley had to ask. "Gabriel?"

The new voice gave a little, impatient sigh. Yes, it had to be him. _Just go. Didn't you hear Luci? You've got to move. Are your safe-houses still safe?_

"Far as I know," Crowley said, not really believing he was actually speaking to the archangel. "Why haven't we tried this before?"

_You are really focusing on the wrong thing here._

"Call me distracted."

_Go. I'll figure out the rest once you're safe._

The concern in Gabriel's tone was too much to take, and he willed the angel to stay quiet before popping out of his mansion.

* * *

It was odd enough to be a demon with an angel perched on your shoulder, so to speak. Things got downright strange when the saving of the sodding world got involved. And worse, these things were becoming a regular thing for Crowley. Purely self-interest, he told himself, to help the enemy of an enemy. Gabriel would chuckle every time, but otherwise say nothing on the subject.

At first Crowley had wanted answers, and even a way to maybe revive the archangel, but there simply hadn't been time. Between running from Lucifer and his forces, hopping from safe-house to safe-house, and helping the Winchesters, Crowley's mind was occupied. And he did kind of like having Gabriel close, being able to talk to him with half a thought, though being able to hold him—or punch him in the face—would be even better.

When there was a little breathing room between making sure Lucifer and Michael's Cage was sealed up tight and moving into position as the new King of Hell, Crowley finally remembered to bring up the subject with his archangel. "So, are you stuck like this forever?"

Gabriel took a few moments to consider it. _I don't know. I didn't really plan or research anything beyond giving Sam and Dean that tape. Truth be told, I'd kind of taken our bond for granted; didn't occur to me that it would be my last lifeline._

Crowley didn't have to say that he would've been Gabriel's lifeline either way, mostly because the angel could sense it in the core of his being. "Well, if we can find you a vessel, maybe we can do some kind of transference. You might be more or less human while your Grace recovers, but you'd be alive."

_I'm an archangel, Crowles. I only have one true vessel, and it's currently rotting away. Unless someone was bright enough to torch it._ Gabriel sighed dramatically. _I liked that vessel too._

The demon wracked his brain for something, _anything_, that could help. "Your vessel didn't happen to have any descendants, did he?"

_Not that I can remember. Then again, it has been a long time, and my memory gets kind of fuzzy somewhere between Jesus and the fifteenth century._ Crowley felt a thrill of excitement run through him, and it wasn't his. _I got it! If we can get even a little bit of my vessel's DNA, we can search for him._

"That will only work if he's a criminal, Gabriel," Crowley said. It would be easier, and far more reliable, to just ask Castiel to take a peek at the Heavenly records. Surely the angels kept this kind of information on hand.

Gabriel didn't miss the thought, per usual. _Heaven's probably a mess right now, and somehow I doubt little Cassie would help. Even if you explained everything, he'd still think you're lying. He's one of the good ones, you know. And besides, we're talking about someone capable of playing host to a trickster. Do you really they think they_ don't_ have a rap sheet?_

Crowley couldn't deny that. "Fair enough."

* * *

The first place to look was the Elysian Fields Hotel, scene of the crime. Crowley didn't expect to find anything, because other than the Apocalypse-Not that would be his kind of luck. When he landed, he was caught off-guard by the sheer amount of magic and tainted Grace in the air.

"Bastard preserved it like a trophy case," Crowley said, unable to keep the anger out of his tone.

The trickster quirked a metaphysical eyebrow. _I'm not sure whether to be flattered or creeped out. I mean, I know I was Luci's favorite, but…_

Crowley glared, even though Gabriel couldn't see him. "If you're about to tell me that this was his way of showing he cared, I will go right back to running Hell, and you'll be forced to watch me fantasize about you and Sam shagging for the rest of eternity. Might throw Dean in there too, just to get the point across."

Gabriel actually laughed. _That's cruel even for you, cupcake, and it would hurt you just as much as it would me._

"Maybe not. The moose is moderately attractive." With a chuckle, reminded of old times, Crowley ventured into the reception hall, where Gabriel had said everything went down.

His first thought was actually Gabriel's, and wasn't that slightly terrifying—_Jeez, Luci, would it have killed you to put an anti-dust feature in your spell?_ The ease in the archangel's tone put Crowley further off-balance, so he wasn't prepared when he finally found what remained of Gabriel's vessel, mighty wings turned to ashes but the body otherwise perfectly preserved, as Crowley had surmised earlier. He knelt down at the once-Gabriel's side and put a hand on his chest.

"There's the stab wound," Crowley said.

_Think you can heal it up? Would make recovery easier, you know._

The magic in the air made it difficult, as it seemed especially geared towards dampening his powers, but there must've been some of the demon blood essence in the body, because it took a lot less effort than it should have for Crowley to heal the blade-shaped hole in Gabriel's chest. Once it was done, he didn't remove his hand, only turned his attention inwards and said, "You ready?"

_As I'll ever be. I hope this works._

"So do I, love."

Crowley closed his eyes and focused, calling forth the little bit of Grace in his system that was Gabriel, willing it to travel from the tattoo on his back, through his chest, down his arm, and out from his hand into the waiting vessel. What Crowley didn't expect was the burn, the pain of the Grace passing right through him, far worse than holy water or bullets of rock salt. The pain in his back he'd gotten used to, comforting in its own way, but this was like a fresh wound, and it was almost too much for him to take. Almost.

Suddenly there was a strangled gasp from beneath him, and Crowley looked down to see Gabriel—fuck, yes, _Gabriel_—sputtering and flailing around, trying to get a grasp on the whole having-a-body thing again.

"Just breathe," Crowley said, helping Gabriel sit up. "You're almost human right now, you need to breathe."

Gabriel leaned into him and rested his forehead on his shoulder. "Not stupid, Crowles." He took a few deep breaths before speaking again. "Thank you."

For the moment, Crowley let his guard down, running his fingers through the archangel's hair and holding him close. "You were inside my head. Couldn't have that now, could I?"

"Oh no, never." Gabriel chuckled and then raised his head slightly. "You think the bond still works?"

They tried it out and were surprised to find that it did. "Must be a tiny bit of Grace left," Gabriel said.

Without even thinking, Crowley asked, "Do you want it? Because I can—"

The angel cut him off with a shake of his head. "You hang on to it. Might come in handy again."

"If you're sure," Crowley said, hesitant to keep something that might help Gabriel recover, little though it was.

"Trust me, Crowles, it's yours," Gabriel said. He pulled himself up a little straighter and kissed the demon. "_I'm_ yours."

A hundred and fifty years after they'd drawn tattoos on each other, binding them together, and this was the first time either of them had put it into words. Crowley couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips.

Most would have been offended. Gabriel only raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It would take the combined forces of Heaven, Hell, and Death and an almost-Apocalypse for us to admit that, wouldn't it?" Crowley said, laughing a little more.

Gabriel joined in, head canting back in pure joy, something Crowley hadn't seen him do in a long time. And suddenly the demon found himself smiling, something _he_ hadn't done in forever. An occasion like this called for some irregularities.

To add to the oddness, after Gabriel had stopped cackling Crowley said, "And I'm yours, angel." He returned the kiss given earlier, Gabriel sighing and moaning against his lips.

It should've been a mess, should've been endlessly complicated, but it wasn't. They were an archangel and the King of Hell, but what did that mean without the end of the world hanging over their heads? For now they were just Gabriel and Crowley, and the world was theirs for the taking.


End file.
